


Corpus Fungoides.

by carefulfleshgnawer



Category: Ao no Exorcist | Blue Exorcist
Genre: Disability, Gen, Helpful and Respectful partnerships, description of illness, the demon ocs are like... service demons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:14:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27192940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carefulfleshgnawer/pseuds/carefulfleshgnawer
Summary: Astaroth helps Lucifer reach for his goals, but he can't help but think in the meantime.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10





	Corpus Fungoides.

**Author's Note:**

> Ive been sitting on this for a good month or so because I just didnt know where to go with it and honestly I don't know where I ended up lmao,,,
> 
> Is this like? Pseudo-fluff? Is this angst? Is it both or perhaps neither... who knows...

Everything comes to an end, sooner or later.

Death doesn’t have to rush, death doesn’t have to force its way into things. Everything comes back to it like a child running to the warm bosom of its mother. Every living thing dies at the end.

And then whatever is left behind after the soul departs  _ rots _ .

Not that that helps Astaroth. Rot is his domain, and yet he cannot fully control it. He is not above it. He, just like everyone else, is _painfully_ _susceptible_ to it.

He doesn’t last forever… or at least his physical body doesn’t. His soul, the concept that he embodies, sure - that lives on indefinitely. It’s been around for centuries, and it’s quite some time until it will be forgotten.

But human bodies, unlike concepts, are so pitifully  _ brittle _ .

“My Liege, your brother wishes for your visit,” one of the beasts in his council - Aspergillius - says. A large, dull-scaled black monitor lizard that oozes with slime and mould.

Astaroth turns his head towards the voice. He takes a moment to digest the statement.

“Again? But we met just a few months ago... Lucifer is getting impatient,” he muses languidly, looking his hand over this way and that with his good eye - the one he can still somewhat see with. The nails are thick and yellow and dead; the skin is cracking and falling away. In a couple of years, he’ll be soup clinging onto bones.

Perhaps he should be feeling a little more impatient as well. It will be exceedingly hard to find a new vessel.

“We are close, his messenger said,” the lizard hisses, scuttling closer and peering at him with large, dead eyes. It smells fetid, like a corpse. “Closer than we’ve ever been. On the edge of success, on the cusp of freedom.”

Astaroth closes his eyes with a wistful sigh. On the edge success… what pretty words. How pleasant to his ears. Currently - he is but fertiliser for fungi, a wet and rich kind of soil that they eat up greedily.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” he says, not quite to Aspergillius and not quite to nothing. “First, a body for father,” he says, buttoning the top-most button of his shirt. The collar is wet and slimy and cool to the touch, but he doesn’t bother changing the shirt, not anymore. It will always be a mess.

“Then, a body for brother,” he continues with a bit more force in his voice, pulling on a tie and knotting it awkwardly with hands that struggle to listen to him. The fingers are stiff and creaky, the fabric feels painful against his irritated skin in some places, but in others he can no longer feel it at all.

“And finally, after that,” he rises from his makeshift throne with a good deal of strain, “we can start looking for a body for  _ me. _ ”

He’d be grinning if he could pull the muscles of his face into that kind of expression. Just the idea of having a body that could move freely and see and hear and taste and feel everything… oh, it has his heart fluttering.

“Very good, my Liege,” the lizard says, crawling backwards with taps of its sharp claws against the floor, “Oh, what joy!”

“Joy indeed,” Astaroth cheers. Then he adjusts the edge of the paper bag on his head absent-mindedly. “I can’t  _ wait _ .”

\-- 

The meeting with Lucifer goes as well as one might expect. The plans have shifted minutely - the cogs are moving half-a-turn faster. But it's still the same general trajectory.

"Aspergillius said that The Light King looked unwell…" one of his says - Lycoperdon - a small, soft thing that looks like a round mushroom. It rolls along, following his footsteps. Another one trails them a ways off.

Astaroth walks through a field, contemplative as he feels more than sees the leaves of pumpkins and courgettes wither upon his approach. From healthy and vivacious to sick and putrefying in  _ seconds _ .

"He did seem bad, even for him," Astaroth agrees. His lizard had confirmed as much to him - filled in the gaps of what Astaroth couldn't see - Lucifer's skin being more sunken and dull and peeling in places, his form still and sickly and death-like upon the bed.

"A beetle," his companion chirps, "don't step on it."

Astaroth stops patiently, waiting for the bug to pass. He can't make out such small things, relies on his demons to warn him. His left eye has gone completely dark. The right one is dim, blurry.

"Is it pretty?" he asks, staring off into the distance where he sees the outline of the edge of a forest.

"It is black and shiny, with pitted lines on its elytra. It crawls clumsily, but even so remains graceful," the Lycoperdon recites, its tiny voice careful and full of awe.

"Mm," Astaroth hums, a pang of pain in his heart at not being able to see it himself, but a warmth of gratefulness for how hard the tiny thing tried to describe the beetle for him, "it sounds very nice."

They stand still for a moment more.

"It is out of your path, my Liege," the Lycoperdon says, and they resume their leisurely pace.

"I find the dissonance between Lucifer's state and claims most concerning," Astaroth voices after a small time of walking, "If we were really so close, he would not be so poor in health. Just what is he planning?"

His companion is quiet for a while. Then, timidly, it speaks again, "I cannot say, my Liege, such complex things are far above me. I can speak of the ground and the mold, but no further up, and most certainly not of your Brother-Kings."

Astaroth hums in thought. "That is fair, I suppose. It must be nice, to not have to worry about so many things."

"I can not complain," the thing confirms lightly, “I am most content with my existence.”

"My liege," the voice of Aspergillius calls out from further off, "I have obtained what you wished of me."

"That was faster than expected," Astaroth says as he comes to a stop and waits for the lizard to draw near, "Are you sure you got the right one?"

"Yes, My Liege," it chitters, "I remembered each criteria and looked it over from top to bottom and bottom to top. It fits the description perfectly."

"Very good, thank you," Astaroth replies as he holds his hand out. Aspergillius waddles over standing upon its hind legs, its head reaching up to Astaroths stomach, and places a smooth-faceted dark crystal in it. Astaroth runs his fingertips along the sharp edges, feeling the shape and size and weight.

Then, he brings it up near to his right eye. He can just make out the vivid, splotchy colour of it, the way it glints in the sunlight. 

"Thank you, Aspergillius. Lucifer will be pleased," he murmurs and pockets it, feeling the lump of it from the outside just to make sure. "Let us return home for now, so that I can prepare it."

"Most certainly," the lizard croons and sets off, Astaroth following it.

\--

A week later, Astaroth’s favour for Lucifer is complete. It wasn’t easy to forge and imbue due to lack of practice and Astaroth’s general condition, but the object is ready.

“Does it glint menacingly in the light?” Astaroth asks as he twists the blade in his grip. The last three fingers of his right hand have seized up completely since three days ago, so he holds the dagger in his left. It is so hard to see it - just a long, blurry shape. But he can feel the power embedded within.

“It does. It glints most malevolently, my Liege,” Aspergillius replies from where it’s curled up on the crafting table. “It looks as if it will bring upon ten plagues and millions of horrid deaths. The miasma that rolls off it is as black as tar and as pungent as a days old corpse in a rainforest,“ here the lizard pauses to catch its breath, ”Wonderful and careful craftsmanship as always.”

Astaroth chuckles weakly as he lowers the blade again, “You are just smooth-talking me, you wicked thing.”

“I am not, my Liege,” Aspergillius replies, “I speak only the truth.”

“I am no longer what I used to be...” Astaroth says as he sets the blade down with a soft clink. “My hands won’t listen to me, and the craft feels clumsy and ugly. How I long for good eyes and hands. How I long for a fresh vessel.”

He hears the soft click of Aspergillius’ claws as it crawls over closer on the table. “My Liege,” it starts, and Astaroth stares at its vague form. He can make out the toxic green of its eyes, the tilt of its head. “I am your eyes for as long as you’ll need me. And if ever you find yourself wanting and your hands declining, I will be your hands as well to the best of my capabilities. So long as you can speak, you will be fine.”

“And when I no longer can? When I lie helpless and motionless and mute? What then?” Astaroth asks.

“That time will not come,” Aspergillius responds confidently. It takes the blade and places it neatly within the box they had prepared beforehand. “After all, your Brother-King has said that we are close. You will be granted a body soon, my Liege. Have trust in him as I have trust in you.”

“...very well,” Astaroth relents. Though there is still a stormy sense of panic in his soul, the words of his companion are most relieving. Have trust. Have patience. All will be well,  _ he _ will be well.

“Now, we must make our way to your Brother-King’s gaudy little mansion again,” Aspergillius snickers as it holds out the box for Astaroth to take.

“You mustn’t insult his tastes...” Astaroth scolds weakly, though from what he remembers of Lucifer’s home… the lizard has a point.

“He will never know of it,” Aspergillius says, jumping off of the table with a loud clatter. “Now, let us go, my Liege.”


End file.
